


Under Strange Moons

by Andalusa93



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Adventure Holiday AU, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Bagginshield, First Meetings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andalusa93/pseuds/Andalusa93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was perfectly content with his life in The Shire, until meddling family friend and eccentric entrepreneur Gandalf prompts a mid-life crisis and convinces him to take part in an adventure holiday. Out of place and amongst a group of strangers, who insist on calling themselves The Company, he traverses the wilderness and gets in to more troubles than he had ever bargained for.<br/>Join Bilbo, Thorin & Co. as they hike, mountain climb, navigate, white water raft and “problem solve” their way to Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long morning for Bilbo Baggins, and he was enjoying his lunch break away from work in a secluded spot in the far corner of a well-manicured park. He drew in a long breath, eyes shut against the midday sun which shone high in the sky, then let it out while he stretched his entire body and let out a contented little groan. Light birdsong filled the air along with the distant shouts of playing children and the faint rumblings of vehicles from the road that bordered the opposite side of the park. A half-forgotten take-out cup of iced coffee sat beside him, nestled into the slightly too long grass, what was left of it had all but melted into a congealed mess.

Bilbo smiled to himself as a soft, warm breeze wafted and tugged at his hair. This small amount of tranquillity was exactly what he needed following a difficult morning at work. So imagine his dismay when a shadow fell over his prone form, his smile faltered, quickly replaced by a good show of irritation that he wasn't even going to attempt to hide from the person that had disturbed his peace. He barely lifted one eyelid to examine the offending presence. 

A tall man, somewhat overdressed for the weather, stood next to him. He wore a grey overcoat with a grey suit, a dark maroon tie was a welcome splash of subdued colour amongst the undeniably smart but monotonous outfit. His hair was greying well at the temples, lines on his strangely familiar face showed his age, but even in the shadow of his brow, the man's eyes twinkled as he looked down at Bilbo almost expectantly. Bilbo closed his eye to go back to his basking, a sure sign to the intruder that he wasn’t exactly welcome, he thought. That thought was swiftly whisked away when the old man sat beside him on the grass. 

Bilbo propped himself up on an elbow in order to glare at the person next to him. "Excuse me," he started, "But, do I know you?" The old man just smiled and fixed him with a knowing look. "Not to be rude or anything," Bilbo went on, his confidence faltering slightly, "I just can't quite place you."

"Well, that is disappointing, Mister Baggins." He said, a short laugh followed when Bilbo started at his name. "After all, it hasn't been so long since we were in the same room."

The old man didn't say anything for a short while after that, instead, he reached into a pocket and drew out a packet of cigarettes. After lighting one for himself he offered the pack to Bilbo, despite the fact he was trying to quit, he sat up fully and took one with a muttered 'thank you'. A couple of drags and a few smoke rings later, the old man saw fit to carry on with his rather convoluted and drawn out introduction.

"Your mother always threw the best parties." He explained cryptically. "I was very sad to hear of her passing. She is why I am here, Bilbo." The man finally turned to face him properly as he stubbed his cigarette out on the ground. "We had such fun travelling together and I made a promise to her, a promise I fully intend to keep."

Bilbo just stared, his heart had stopped at the mention of his mother, the subject was too delicate, the loss was too fresh, too new, and that is what caused Bilbo to leap to his feet in frustration. He dropped his finished cigarette to the floor and crushed the butt under his heel and gestured helplessly at the man still sat on the grass. At least he had figured out who it was, an old friend his mother used to travel with.

"Listen, Gandalf... It is Gandalf, isn't it?" He paused as the man nodded affirmative, he looked pleased that Bilbo had sussed his name. "If you're not going to tell me why you're here in the next," Bilbo glanced at his watch, "Five minutes, then I really must be going."

Gandalf stood up and fixed Bilbo with a piercing gaze. "Belladonna made me promise to not let you stagnate or get stuck in a rut, which is precisely what has happened, I fear." He halted the protests Bilbo had started to splutter with a raised hand and went on. "She wanted you to see the world, Bilbo, not just read about it. So I have come here to ask if you would like to accompany me on an adventure."

"A what?" Bilbo exclaimed, his voice broke and he stepped back, he pressed the forefinger of a closed fist to his lips which opened and closed a couple of times before he managed to find any words. "An advent- are you serious?"

"Well, yes." One of Gandalf's eyebrows rose as he took in Bilbo's flustered state, then continued slowly. "I run an adventure holiday company now, I've got a party setting off in a few days and they're one man short, I was hoping you'd make up the numbers."

"Excuse me?" Bilbo said, although he had heard quite clearly, Gandalf's face fell, obviously disappointed at the reaction. "A few days?" He asked, then ran a shaking hand through his hair when Gandalf nodded. "I can't just... I have a job a- and a life. Here!" He stuttered. 

Gandalf frowned, he looked almost offended that Bilbo would turn down his offer. "It wouldn't be forever, my dear boy, a couple of months at most."

"I'm sorry, but I can't. Now, I really must be going. Good day." And with that, Bilbo turned sharply and made his way across the grass in the general direction of his work place.

"Bilbo!" Gandalf implored after his retreating figure. "At least give it some thought." 

With a sigh, Bilbo turned back around, walking away was rude. If there was one thing Bilbo prided himself on, it was the fact he did things properly, always minding his manners, always being polite. As his mother had taught him. "I'm sorry, Gandalf." He said again. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting the words he was about to say. "Perhaps we could discuss this properly over dinner." 

It was a twisted sort of relief Bilbo felt when Gandalf smiled and clasped his hands in front of his chest. "That would be wonderful." The older man assured him. "I already have your address, of course, shall we say eight o'clock?"

"Eight is fine." Bilbo nodded, then sighed again. "I really have to go now, Gandalf."

-

That afternoon had gone about as well as the morning. On top of some particularly difficult customers, Bilbo had been fretting over the strange meeting with Gandalf in the park. He was content with his life, no doubt about that, he was comfortable with the routine he had, even if it did become incredibly dull at times. Bilbo could freely admit that he did occasionally feel the need to just leave, go somewhere new and explore, but to have the idea thrust upon him in such an unexpected manner, with no warning, of course he panicked. 

Bilbo placed his phone back in the cradle and silently thanked any higher being that might be listening it was the last call of the day. He collected his belongings and headed home via the deli to pick up a few bits and pieces he needed to make dinner. As he passed the local newsagents he caught a wiff of cigarette smoke from the group of teenagers loitering nearby. The familiar scent washed over him and Bilbo found himself inhaling deeper than usual. Cursing, both himself and Gandalf, he ducked into the shop and purchased a pack. Barely a week, he thought angrily as he sparked up outside the shop, barely a week and he was already smoking again. 

It was a short walk to his home from the shop, a few turns and then straight down to the end of the cul de sac. It was an old brick house with a rather large garden and a cheery green door, the same house Bilbo had almost been born in, grown up in, moved out of and then back in again when his mother fell ill after his father died. There were many memories attached to this building, the good and the bad mingled with each other often, but Bilbo was slowly coming to terms with the fact it was just too big for one person to occupy. While he wasn't opposed to living alone, Bilbo actually preferred it that way, the rooms seemed cavernous. Empty.

Bilbo raised a hand of greeting to his neighbour Hamfast, who was out in his own garden tending to his flowerbeds, as he passed. When he reached his front door, Bilbo looked sadly at the empty flowerpot beside the garden bench that was pressed up against the wall of his house. He had spent a good hour cleaning out the sludge and fag ends when he threw away his last packet of cigarettes and had been planning to plant a sunflower in it. With a sigh, he dropped his half finished tab into the pot and unlocked the front door.

Normally, Bilbo would stick the kettle on, settle down with a nice cup of tea and spend a good hour or so reading before making a start on dinner, but he was expecting company. Instead, he put away his shopping, set the oven to preheat and, after looking around his cluttered lounge, started to tidy some things away. His home wasn't messy, it was just filled with... _stuff_. It all mattered, all had some sentiment attached. Bilbo had tried so many times to go through some of it, maybe get rid of a few things, but every time, he had been distracted by the memories that a small trinket held, or the carefully handwritten words adorning the back of a photograph.

He started by clearing off the dark wood coffee table, one of the only pieces of furniture where anything actually changed, piled high with books waiting to be put back on the shelf, magazines to go for recycling, letters left unopened, his mug and a half empty wine glass from the night before. After moving the novel he was currently reading to one side, Bilbo put everything back in it's proper place and wiped the surface clean. 

Once that was done, he moved through to the dining room, it was exactly as it had been left, the windowed cabinet that held the crockery still proudly displayed his mother's best dining set and silverware. The long table that had always been too big for their small family still had two place settings, one at the head of the table and one to the right of that. The side board still stood bearing the brightly coloured fruit bowl flanked by two great, brass candlesticks. Everything was exactly as it had been left six months ago, the last time he had set foot in the room, only now everything was covered in a fine layer of dust and the small plant on the windowsill had withered.

Bilbo stared at the dead plant for a moment, chrysanthemum, if he remembered correctly. He had placed the once cheerful blooms there for his mother, the same morning he had set the table, the same morning he had to call the ambulance, the last time he had been in this room. With a sigh, he walked over to the window, sparing barely a glance to the garden beyond, and picked up the flowerpot. It was a fine thing, he thought, fingers idly running over the grooves carved into it, not large enough for a sunflower, but some other small plant would do just nicely.

Back in the kitchen, Bilbo deposited the dry soil and remains of the plant in the bin, rinsed the pot and put it to one side. He washed his hands and almost gasped when he looked his watch. It was getting late, Gandalf would be arriving soon and he hadn't even started cooking yet. Bilbo retrieved the vegetables he had bought earlier in the day, green beans, carrots and a couple of good sized potatoes. After a quick rinse under cold water and a trim, he placed the beans in his vegetable steamer. The carrots soon followed once they were peeled and chopped. The potatoes required a bit more attention, Bilbo scrubbed the skin until all trace of remaining dirt was gone, and after they had been subjected to the peeler and knife, the small, roughly square shaped pieces of potato were dropped into the water bath at the base of the steamer and placed the stacked pans onto the hob.

Bilbo absently wiped his hands on his trousers on his way to the fridge to get the fish, a whole salmon, only a small one though. Thankfully, the fiddly bit was all done, Bilbo had no issues gutting, boning or de-scaling a fish, but it was messy business and the kind lady behind the fish counter had happily done it all for him. He removed it from the bag and placed it on the baking parchment laid out on the counter, once the cavity in had been stuffed with slices of lemon, fennel, and a generous amount of parsley, he mixed a couple of eggs and some water into a bowl full of rock salt and packed the mixture around the fish. 

All done, he hummed happily to himself as he transferred the parchment holding the salmon onto a baking tray and pushed in into the hot oven. Bilbo prodded his steaming vegetables to ensure they weren't getting too soggy and did the same with the potatoes to see how much longer they would need before frying them. He tidied away all the mess he had made while preparing the meal, another glance at his watch let him know he was running out of time, Bilbo grabbed a rag from under the sink and walked swiftly back into the dining room to wipe away the dust.

Despite opening the window and door as wide as possible, the dust simply hung in the air, waiting for his disturbing presence to leave so it could settle upon any surface it could find. Bilbo looked around the room, wringing the cloth in his hands, a sad sigh escaped his lips as he took in the slightly fresher looking surroundings. Perhaps it was for the best, he had never seen much point in using the room since it was just him, he had grown accustomed to taking all of his meals at the breakfast bar in the kitchen or balancing a plate on his lap in the lounge, but it was only polite to set the table properly if he was entertaining visitors. So Bilbo arranged two place settings, one for himself and one for Gandalf .

With less than ten minutes before the old man's imminent arrival, Bilbo went back to his food. He poured a generous amount of oil and a knob of butter into the large frying pan, and once he drained the water from the steamer, placed the parboiled potatoes into the sizzling mixture. He cracked the oven door to check on the progress of the fish and the smell that blasted out into the kitchen was heavenly. Bilbo took a deep breath then closed the door, everything was on track. 

Bilbo was no chef, but he enjoyed cooking, and it wasn't often he could indulge in it as he received so few guests. There was a great comfort in the crunch of a knife as it cut through raw vegetables, or the bubbling sound of something simmering away on the stove, the warm smells that permeated the entire house and, best of all, the end result. There was nothing more satisfying than presenting someone with a dish and watching them enjoy the meal so lovingly made. 

A loud knock at the front door announced Gandalf's arrival. Bilbo was so lost in his thoughts that he let out a small squeak and almost jumped at the sound. He made his way to the door and pulled it open to reveal the smiling old man, he noted the addition of an almost silvery scarf, grey felt fedora, and walking stick to his outfit from earlier. 

"Gandalf, please, come in." Bilbo gestured and stepped to one side to let Gandalf pass then closed the door. "Can I get you anything to drink?" He asked him as they made their way to the lounge. 

"A small glass of red will do nicely, thank you." Gandalf nodded slightly, he took a seat in the armchair closest to the empty fireplace and removed his hat and scarf. 

"Of course, I'll be right back." 

Bilbo could have kicked himself as he hurried to the kitchen to fetch Gandalf a drink. This man was going to try and convince him to leave, to go on this ridiculous holiday with no warning, no explanation, and he was running about trying to please him and make sure he was comfortable. That was just who he was. Always polite, hospitable, _respectable_. Bilbo Baggins did not go running off into sunsets at the drop of a hat. 

Yet, he was almost tempted to hear the old man out, Bella had taken Bilbo on numerous adventures when he was younger. They never went far, just set off in the car in the late morning with no real destination in mind, when they reached a junction in the road she would let Bilbo pick which way they would turn. It was the journey more than the destination, the thrill of not knowing where they would end up, or how they would get there, just belting down country roads and singing along to the radio. It was the discovery of quaint little pubs or secluded ice cream shops, of ending up on a dirt track leading down to a river and paddling in the pebble strewn shallows, it was freedom.

Bilbo collected his thoughts and shook his head with a frown as he poured the wine. That was then, way back when he had no responsibilities. Now, now he had a house to maintain, bills to pay, a job to go to. The days for adventuring were long over. Bilbo walked back to the lounge to find Gandalf looking at the portraits of his parents above the mantle. They were younger than Bilbo ever remembered them, he had found the paintings during one of his few ventures into the attic, according to one of his mother's journals, they had been done on their honeymoon.

"Dinner will be ready shortly." Bilbo informed Gandalf as he passed over the glass of wine. "Just make yourself comfortable." 

“Thank you, Bilbo.” Gandalf gazed fondly at the portrait of his mother. “She truly was a beauty.” He said and looked at Bilbo. “You have her eyes.”

“Um.” Said Bilbo. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, he could feel his cheeks heating up, so he mumbled something about the food and dashed back to the kitchen and left Gandalf to his own devices.

Bilbo put a couple of plates into the bottom of the oven to heat them, he dropped a small amount of butter in with the vegetables and swirled the pan so they were evenly coated, then poured them into a small serving bowl and put them in next to the plates to keep warm while the potatoes finished sauteing. He took the fish out of the oven and cracked the salt shell, Bilbo breathed deep as he released the steam and citrus and herb scent. Careful to keep the cooked fish intact, he extracted it from the salt, placed it on a platter and peeled off the skin. As some of the flesh flaked away, he couldn't help but sneak a small piece or two into this mouth. 

"That smells absolutely divine." Gandalf complemented from the doorway. "Do you need a hand with anything?"

"No, no." Bilbo flapped a hand at him to shoo him away. "Thank you, though."

Bilbo swept back and forth between the kitchen and dining room a couple of times, his hands laden with the food he had prepared, he arranged the dishes carefully so everything was within easy reach and invited Gandalf to sit. They made polite small talk as they started their meal, but Bilbo just knew they were edging ever closer to the reason Gandalf was here. He had promised to hear the old man out, that he would think about it. He _had_ thought about it, a lot, but for every argument Bilbo could muster to not go, a memory of windswept hair and feeling of euphoria soon followed.

It was almost like he wanted to be convinced, so instead of tiptoeing around the subject any longer, he asked outright. "What exactly would this holiday entail?"

Gandalf looked at Bilbo, that almost knowing look coupled with hidden amusement at some joke only he was privy to. "A great many things, Bilbo."

It was all Bilbo could do to not roll his eyes, to sigh and throw up his hands in exasperation. "I mean specifically." He said, surprised at how level he managed to keep his voice. "What will we be doing? Where will we be going?"

"The only thing set in stone is the ultimate destination." The old man told him, he set his knife and fork down on his plate, rested his elbows on the table and pressed his fingertips together. "Some activities have been organised in advance, but others will be set up along the way, there's no, ah, set plan." Gandalf twined his fingers together, his smile grew wider. "That's what makes it an adventure!"

None of that eased Bilbo at all, it only raised more questions. "And a group of people have paid you to organise this?" He asked, barely able to to stop himself from raising his voice. 

"Well, no." Gandalf admitted with a shrug, no trace of shame on his face. "This is a trial run, if all goes well, I hope to have it up and running properly next year."

Bilbo set his fork down on the table, leaned back in his chair and stared at the old man, the food lay forgotten on his plate. "You really expect me to agree to this?" 

"I was certainly hoping you would consider it." Gandalf's smiled fell, his eyebrows drew together slightly. "Just think of the people you'll meet, the stories you could tell when you get back." 

"As if that's a convincing argument." Bilbo scoffed. "Gandalf, I can't. I would love to be able to just drop everything and go, I would." He crossed his arms over his chest and he could feel himself frowning. "I just _can't_."

"What's stopping you?" The question was light, almost nonchalant, but it carried so much weight. It forced Bilbo to voice all of his excuses. If they sounded weak and pathetic in his own head, they would be doubly so when spoken aloud, so he didn't bother. He knew that Gandalf knew there very little holding him back.

"This house has stood for generations, Bilbo." Gandalf went on, sounding very matter of fact. "It won't crumble to dust if you turn your back on it for a few months. As I said this morning: 'the world is not in your books'. It's out there." He gestured towards the window.

Bilbo couldn't respond to that. It was an excuse to get away from a job he didn't enjoy, it would be a break from the wall of his home that held so many bad memories, a chance to meet some new people, people who wouldn't look at him with a sad look in their eyes. He couldn't provide an argument against the old man's reasoning, so he shrugged instead.

Gandalf sighed, a frustrated sound that Bilbo couldn't quite fathom. "The rest of the company are having a few drinks at The Green Dragon tomorrow night, a sort of 'one last hurrah' before we leave." He said. "You don't have to commit to anything, but come and meet them, at least." And with that he stood, the feet of his chair scraping against the floorboards. "Thank you for dinner, Bilbo." He smiled down at the stunned looking man. "Think about it, please."

Bilbo waited until he heard the door close behind Gandalf before he moved. His movements were wooden, stilted, almost. Dishes were collected and piled up next to the sink, another glass of wine was poured, much fuller than the previous one. He slumped on the sofa and sipped his wine as he mulled over everything Gandalf had said, he was loath to admit he had some very good points, but could he really afford to just leave everything behind for a few months? It wasn't that long, after all. 

He would go tomorrow night, he decided. He would go and meet the people who had actually signed up for this madness and volunteered to be Gandalf's guinea pigs. In his mind, they were a group of misfit youths, jumping at a chance for a cheap thrill and chance to travel a bit before they go back to college. Bilbo swallowed the last of his wine, placed the empty glass on the table and headed off to bed. If that was the case, his mind was already made up. He would _not_ go gallivanting around the country and end up being the butt of every joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has been an interesting journey. To get to the point I can finally, _finally_ post this. Please enjoy, leave a comment if you like, or drop by and visit me on [Tumblr!](http://andalusa.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets the company and it's.... _mostly_ a positive experience.

Bilbo stood outside the pub, he leaned against the old stone wall and puffed away on a cigarette to psych himself up. He had considered just walking away, going home, curling up on the sofa in front of the TV and watching some bad movies until he fell asleep more than once, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. So here he was, nervously eyeing the rather large, burly man who had just stepped out of the door, he looked up and down the street before leaning against the wall himself. 

Bilbo took in the man's appearance, his hair had been shaved off, though he still wore a neatly cropped beard. His clothing wasn't at all suitable for the time of year, heavy jeans and an even heavier coat with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow to reveal patterned skin. This newcomer had an extremely intimidating presence. Bilbo didn't know if it was the sheer size of the man, or the numerous tattoos visible on his hands and forearms, or the annoyed expression on his face. Whatever it was, Bilbo tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. 

The man looked back at him. Not in a rude way, it wasn't the ignorant gaping Bilbo was sad to say he was almost used to, but rather a vague disinterest, as if weighing the options of whether or not it was worth his time to strike up a conversation. Mercifully, the man decided against it and turned his attention to the phone he had just pulled out of his pocket. Bilbo didn't do well with new people, or any people, for that matter, he could quite happily live out his days in near-complete solitude. He sighed as that thought entered his head. Perhaps that wasn't strictly true, he wouldn't be _happy_ , but at least he wouldn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't. 

It was at that point Gandalf also emerged from the pub, accompanied by a man in a marvellous red jacket who looked to be almost as old as he was, albeit about a foot shorter and sporting an impressive white beard. They were chatting away merrily and, to Bilbo's horror, joined the tattooed man for a smoke. Bilbo tried to melt into the wall he was leaning against, hoping against hope that Gandalf would remain oblivious to his presence so he could slip away and leave a message for the old man with some excuse as to why he couldn't make it. 

Bilbo had the odd skill of being able to blend into the background, to go completely unnoticed. It didn't start as a conscious effort, and at first he was slightly offended that people wouldn't even be aware of his presence when he entered a room, but he soon turned it into a game. He would see how long it would take for people to notice him, sneak up on people and give them a fright, or avoid someone if he didn't want to be found. Bilbo was so used to it working, he was genuinely surprised when Gandalf suddenly called out his name.

"Bilbo Baggins," He said with a chuckle, "I was wondering where you had gotten to."

The large tattooed man let out a huff of surprise, his eye brows shot up as he looked Bilbo over again, taking in the wide eyes, the nervously clenched fist and the way he leaned away from their small group ever so slightly. He shook his head, the brief smile on his lips barely visible because of the motion, then went back into the pub. The older, bearded man was more polite, he gestured for Bilbo to join himself and Gandalf and introduced himself. 

"I'm Balin," He held out a hand, Bilbo grasped it, a little taken aback by the extremely firm, practised grip of the other man. "That surly fellow was Dwalin, my brother. A pleasure to meet you, of course, Master Baggins, we've heard so much."

"Really?" Bilbo couldn't help but let a nervous laugh escape him as he looked between the two other men. "Not all bad, I hope?"

"Nothing but praise, lad." Balin assured him with a smile, then he looked up at the sky with a grimace. "Looks like rain later." He stated and made his own way inside, Gandalf followed, casting an amused look at Bilbo before letting the door slam shut behind him. 

Bilbo looked up as well, the sky was a clear blue, not a cloud in sight. He shook his head and walked into the pub, the air was warm and dark and smelled of stale beer, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, voices were raised in order to be heard over the general din of loud conversation. Bilbo looked around as he squeezed his way into an empty spot at the bar and immediately spotted Gandalf sat amongst a large group of men, the hat made him stand out. 

One thing he noted immediately was that they were all sporting facial hair of some kind, even the youngest looking fellow, probably in his early twenties, had quite a substantial sprinkling of stubble on his jaw. Bilbo watched with interest as the rather diverse group interacted with each other while Gandalf seemed content to sit back and let them wreak havoc in their corner of the pub.

Bilbo turned his attention to the bartender, these occasions being one of the few he lamented his ability to be over looked, and tried to flag her down. Being somewhat shorter than average was a distinct disadvantage in this situation, however the space that had appeared to his right had been filled almost as soon as it was vacated, and Bilbo found himself next to Dwalin. He only felt a little irritated as he served right away, but he felt an elbow in his ribs and the tall man leaned down to ask what he was drinking.

When Bilbo said he'd like 'half a pint, please', Dwalin gave him another look and ordered Bilbo a full pint instead. While he was a bit put out by that, he thanked the other man all the same. As they waited for the drinks to be poured Dwalin peered down at the phone in his hand and tutted, he typed a message and pocketed the device.

"This place really isn't that hard to find." He grumbled at no one in particular.

"Mister Dwalin!" A voice shouted out, startling Bilbo and making him jump, he turned to see the young, dark haired one grinning at Dwalin as he approached the bar. A slightly older blonde man followed in his wake, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. 

"Careful, Kili." Dwalin warned the young man and tipped his head toward Bilbo with a chuckle. "You'll give our new friend a fright."

Kili looked at Bilbo, his smile faltering for a moment, but it returned in full force as he took Bilbo's hand and shook it vigorously. "You must be Mister Boggins."

Bilbo didn't bother to correct him, he was beginning to feel extremely overwhelmed, so he just smiled politely and nodded until his had was released. The two young men were obviously brothers, despite the startling contrast in hair colour, many of their facial features were similar. From the strong noses and quirked lips, right down to the mischievous twinkle in their eyes. 

Two sets of brothers in one group, Bilbo wondered if any of the others were related in some way. He peered over at the gathering in the corner, they were all leaning close together, their voices now quiet enough to not be heard from where Bilbo stood. He thought they might be having a serious discussion about one thing or another, that is until a merry faced man in a warm looking hat pounded the table and started laughing, the others laughed too, at whatever punchline had just been dropped.

Bilbo turned his attention back to the small group he found himself part of, the blonde fellow steadied his brother as he stumbled to lean against the bar, he smiled apologetically at Dwalin and Bilbo. "I'm Fili." He introduced himself and cast an exasperated glance at the dark haired youth now propped against a stool. "Sorry about this, won't be having any more to drink tonight if he knows what's good for him."

Kili widened his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but his older brother cut him off before he could start. "You know how Uncle can get, and what if he tells mum?" Fili warned, eyebrows rising minutely. "You know he will and she'll never let you out of her sight again." 

The hurt look on Kili's face resembled that of a kicked puppy, wide eyes, bottom lip pushed out and, if the pub were to go silent, Bilbo probably would have heard the small whining noise he was making. 

Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the gentle scolding, not entirely convinced it was genuine, but more of a semi practised routine. "We were all young once." He said, looking between the boys. "I don't think your uncle could begrudge him for indulging." As if to prove a point, he took a long gulp of his own drink.

"See!" Kili immediately perked up, his bright smile seemed to make the room lighter, he slung an arm around Bilbo's shoulders, the movement made Bilbo stagger and he barely managed to stop himself from sloshing his drink down his front. "Mister Boggins is on my side!" 

Fili rolled his eyes and turned to Dwalin, who had watched the entire encounter with an amused grin, and asked: "Have you heard from Uncle at all? He's stopped replying to my texts."

Dwalin shrugged and pulled his phone back out of his pocket. "Sent me a message a few minutes ago, Bag Shot Row, wherever the hell that is." He sighed, a rough and ragged sound, almost as if this happened more often than it ought to. "The man should wear a GPS."

"He's not too far away, actually." Bilbo interjected, suddenly aware of three sets of eyes on him, he felt his throat tighten. "A five minute walk, if he knows where he's going." 

The men surrounding him all exchanged a knowing look, some joke Bilbo wasn't aware of, apparently. "About half an hour, then?" Obviously a rhetorical question from Dwalin and Kili giggled. "Let's go sit down." He said.

Bilbo followed close behind the two brothers, the close press of bodies around him threatened to separate them, but a few well placed elbows and a glare from Dwalin was enough to part the crowd enough for them to get through. When they reached the table, which turned out to be three pushed together, Bilbo felt even more out of depth. Every face turned to inspect him, the newcomer, the unknown person that was supposed to accompany them on their holiday. Gandalf seemed to sense this and stood up to introduce him to the group as Fili, Kili and Dwalin slipped back into their chairs.

"Bilbo, I'd like you to meet Dori, Ori and Nori." The old man indicating to each man as he named them. "Oin, Bifur, Bombur, Gloin and Bofur." In turn, the men raised a hand or inclined their head as their name was called out, except for the last one, Bofur, he stood, swept his hat off and bowed extravagantly. Gandalf tutted, but his smile was a fond one. "And you've already met the boys and the Fundinsons."

"Everyone, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo felt a reassuring hand rest on his shoulder, he was grateful for the touch, it seemed to ground him. "If he agrees, he will be the fourteenth and final member of our party."

Bilbo let himself be guided to the space that had appeared between Bofur and Kili, though he noticed the empty chair at the end of the table, probably reserved for the late arrival. Conversation went on around him almost as if there had never been an interruption, though Kili did occasionally send him a brief smile, he wasn't actually included. 

He did notice that he wasn't the only one to be slightly reserved, the man called Bifur sat quietly in his corner, sipping his drink and barely speaking. Bilbo noted he did lean and mutter into the ear of the large, ginger haired man beside him. The light in the pub fell in such a way that Bilbo couldn't really see his face, but when he leaned forward to put his beer glass back on the table, his features were illuminated and revealed a terrible looking scar on his forehead. Almost sensing Bilbo's gaze, Bifur looked up, there was a challenge in his eyes, daring him to say something. Of course he didn't, he smiled and suddenly became very interested in the cardboard coaster nearest to him.

At one point Bilbo had to shuffle over so Bofur could get to the bar and get another round of drinks, he'd asked Bilbo, but he declined, raising his glass to show that it was pretty much full. He came back less than five minutes later with a tray full of fresh pints, he carefully handed them out and fell back into his space beside Bilbo.

Bofur appeared to hold court at the table, he led the conversation and made the occasional joke, his voice had a soft, song-like lilt to it and was pleasant to listen to. Soon the topic of conversation eventually changed to something he didn't really care for and he turned to Bilbo and started asking questions, nothing too prying, just about what he did for a living, his hobbies and how Gandalf had managed to convince him to sign up for this ridiculous holiday.

"I haven't," Bilbo admitted, shoulders rising almost imperceptibly. "Well, not yet, at least.

"Ah!" Bofur grinned and held up a finger. " _Yet!_ So you're tempted? Oh, of course you are, you wouldn't be here otherwise."

"You're the one who called it ridiculous." Bilbo countered, he felt his lips stretch out in a completely unrestrained smile, perhaps it was social lubricant of alcohol, or the laid back attitude of the man beside him, but he felt truly happy for the first time in a very long time. Even surrounded by people he could still consider strangers, it was nice to be included, without prejudice, in something bigger than himself. "Why are you here?"

Bofur shrugged, his grin wider than ever. "Why not?" As if that was enough reason.

Their happy conversation moved forward, Bilbo learned that that many of the men in the company were, in fact, related to each other. The various groups of brothers also being distant cousins or uncles to each other. They chatted away, sometimes one of the others would add something and cause the conversation to go off on a tangent. Once or twice someone broke out into song, much to the delight of everyone else who would join in, enthusiastic, loud and confident. 

Bilbo had to contain a look of surprise when Bifur eventually spoke out loud, he spoke in a harsh, guttural language, unfamiliar to Bilbo. Bofur answered his brother in the same tongue, though it was somewhat less aggressive sounding from his mouth. 

"He hasn't spoken a word of English since the accident." Bofur told Bilbo with a hint of sadness, he tapped a finger to his head indicating the scar that adorned Bifur's. "Terrible business, but at least we still have him." 

Bilbo nodded in solemn agreement, his curiosity peaked and he hoped that one day he might hear the whole story. In fact, as he sat amongst these men, he felt more and more inclined to go on this holiday. They were fantastic mix of people, in the space of a few short hours he had made tentative bonds with most of them. He and Bombur over their mutual love of cooking. Oin was a retired doctor with a fondness for gardening, Gloin was an investment banker and proud father to one little boy boy with the same shockingly ginger hair.

Ori was an avid reader, and soon to be published author, Dori had hastened to add, though Bilbo didn't miss Nori rolling his eyes as he cupped his chin in his hand. The startling physical difference between this particular set of brothers was a story he longed to hear as well. While some basic facial features were similar, he never would have guessed they were related in any way. 

Bofur was a force unto himself, unbiased and fast in his friendship, he had already managed to cajole Bilbo's mobile number out of him. Being surrounded by people who weren't judgemental and accepting of his presence amongst them without much question, well, it was definitely something he could get used to. He felt truly happy for the first time in a long while. Bilbo gratefully accepted the fresh pint offered to him and threw a smile in Gandalf's direction. The old man responded in turn, a sly wink accompanied the friendly gesture. 

"Gandalf!" A new voice shouted over the noise, the entire group hushed and turned towards the source. Bilbo stared, it was so very rude and he could feel his mouth was hanging open slightly, but the very presence of this man demanded attention. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find." He went on as he strode over to where Gandalf sat and took his place on the vacant chair beside him. 

This newcomer was a sight to behold. Long, dark tresses of hair touched with a few streaks of grey held out of his face in a low ponytail, the face in question was all angles and sternness, thick beard and intense blue eyes, small creases fanned out from them when he smiled at his nephews. As he removed his jacket, there was a surety in his movements, and yet, despite all of that, the regal bearing and confidence he exuded, he had an air of weariness about him. 

Bilbo snapped his mouth shut and looked away when the man scanned the rest of the group and his gaze landed on him. He took a sip of his drink and turned back to Bofur, fully intending to immerse himself in whatever intense sounding discussion he had started, but the sound of Gandalf calling him name forced him to abandon that particular endeavour. The old man gestured for Bilbo to come over, with a sigh, he did as was bade and edged his way around the table and towards Gandalf. 

He stood before Gandalf and the stranger, feeling more than a little self conscious, his hands felt strange hung by his sides with nothing to occupy them. It was an effort to stop himself from clenching them into fists.

"This is Thorin." Gandalf introduced the dark haired man beside him, who bowed his head ever so slightly in greeting. "The leader of our company." 

"A pleasure to meet you." Bilbo said with a smile. "Bilbo Baggins."

"Likewise." Thorin responded coolly, his voice was low, like distant thunder. "So you're the one Gandalf has been telling me about." His eyes raked over him properly, taking in everything, and if Bilbo felt uncomfortable before, that was nothing compared to how small he felt when Thorin next spoke. "Do you have any previous experience with anything like this?"

"Er, not really." 

Thorin seemed distinctly unimpressed with that answer, coupled with the look he gave Dwalin, Bilbo now felt more out of place than ever before. The warmth that had spread through him earlier in the night had all but dissipated. The arrival of this so called leader had sapped him of any confidence. Bilbo thought himself a reasonable judge of character, apparently he had been wrong with regards to Thorin. He was almost tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he wasn't entirely comfortable around new people.

"Are you sure he's up for this, Gandalf?" Thorin asked. 

Or maybe not, Bilbo frowned and exhaled sharply at the slight.

"You asked me to find a fourteenth member, and I have chosen Bilbo." Gandalf stated, as if that was enough explanation. "He has more to offer than even /he/ realises, I think."

"If you think so, he will suffice."

And that was all Thorin had to say on the matter, his tone of voice a clear dismissal of his presence. Bilbo could take a hint, he was very good at making himself scarce, and that's precisely what he did. He retreated to his seat between Bofur and Kili but didn't attempt to join in with the conversation. The words had stung, Bilbo was used to being judged, but being spoken to like that was usually something he experienced at the hands of his extended family, not a stranger that knew nothing about him.

Bofur noticed something was off and tried to offer some reassurance, Bilbo waved his words away and excused himself. He made his way outside, fishing the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket as he went.

-  


Bilbo couldn't recall how long he had stood outside gazing at the night sky, stars twinkling at him through the breaks in the clouds, it was long enough for his cigarette to burn out. It had become sad looking column of ash clinging onto the butt loosely held between his fingers, when he brought it to his lips to take a drag, it fell to the floor and was swept away by the breeze. With a bitter sigh, Bilbo flung the remnants of the cigarette away and lit another. 

The burning sensation in his lungs and the familiar taste of tobacco calmed him. It was a horrible habit Bilbo had vowed to stop, but every time he made the effort, something would come up. _Weak_ , Bilbo thought, no conviction. How could he even begin to believe he was able to do this? It would only end in disappointment, much like any other venture he put his mind to. 

A shiver ran through him as he contemplated his options. He could go, he could try and either fail or succeed. The former would result in predictable mockery, laughter and haughty sounding 'I told you so's. The latter didn't bare thinking about as it was so unlikely, but Bilbo felt a small surge of hope and pride when he indulged himself. He could stay, he would be comfortable and not take the risk. While Bilbo felt a small flutter of panic in his chest at that thought, he easily pushed it away. 

Bilbo couldn't go back inside the pub, he had absolutely no desire to socialise any further with the group of men that laughed too loud and sang bawdy folk songs with pure joy in their voices. That wasn't him and he had no place amongst them. If they desperately needed a fourteenth member, surely there was another brother or uncle or cousin they could ask.

Eventually Gandalf came looking for Bilbo and found him crouched with his back against the hard stone wall. He glanced up at the aged man, but swiftly looked away, back up at the sky. 

"I'm not going, Gandalf." He stated, leaving no room for argument. 

"Bilbo." 

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, once upright he glared at the interfering coot in front of him. "If I wanted to have my character judged, if I wanted people to insult me, not matter how veiled it might be, I have that all right here." Bilbo jabbed a finger at the ground to emphasise his point. "I am not going."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Gandalf said, his voice full of sympathy, his eyes even more so.

That wasn't what Bilbo wanted, he didn't want pity, just wanted to be left alone and live out his life in peace. He blinked away the tears he could feel building up and threatening to fall. "I'm going home." 

Gandalf walked with him, the atmosphere surrounding them was a sombre one. They stepped around puddles that had formed, a result of the rain Balin had predicted earlier in the day. Few words were spoken and any that were had nothing to do with the events of the night or whether or not Bilbo would actually come along on the holiday. When they reached Bilbo's green front door they bid each other a good night and that was that. 

-

When Bilbo woke the next morning he was reluctant to get out of bed, it was a Saturday and there was no need for him to even be awake. The temptation to lounge around all day was too much to resist, so that's what he fully intended on doing. He rolled out of bed and didn't bother to change, his bare feet were silent against the floorboards as he made his way to the kitchen. He brewed himself a cup of tea and collapsed into his armchair in the lounge.

There was a thick, cream envelope on floor inside the door, obviously pushed through the letter box earlier that morning. Bilbo stared at it, though not really seeing it, for a long while before he went to retrieve it. He turned it over in his hands, it was unsealed and there was no address, with a shrug, Bilbo slid the contents out and looked through the papers. A very long contract/waiver and a note. Bilbo sighed and made his way back over to the chair. 

"Does he not know what 'no' means?" Bilbo mumbled to himself as he leafed through the contract. 

A word caught his eye and he shuffled through the paper to find that page again. 'Erebor'. Bilbo stared at it for a moment. He surprised himself by laughing when it sank in. Gandalf wanted him to cross a sea and several countries for the sake of an adventure, to keep a promise he had made to his mother. Bilbo glanced up at the portrait above the mantle. 

"What do I do?" He asked, but the painting of Bella just smiled down at him, as it always had.

The options swam in his head again. When Bilbo thought about staying here, in his familiar surroundings with people he knew, the panic he felt last night rose up again, making his chest tighten. At last he realised what it was. He felt trapped, restless, helpless, resigned to this small bubble of life he had carved out, and it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Damn what anyone else thinks, Bilbo thought to himself, screw them all. Let them talk and gossip amongst themselves, if they had nothing better to do, then he wanted nothing to do with them. 

Bilbo felt a surge of energy sweep through him, he gulped down the remainder of his tea and hurried to shower and dress. He dug his backpack out of the wardrobe and stuffed it with clothes, some basic hygiene products and a few books. Of course it wasn't enough for a cross country adventure holiday, but Gandalf could hardly expect him to be prepared for this with such little notice.

He sent a text to Gandalf informing him that he would be joining them after all and received one back not even five minutes later, telling him to meet the group at the coach station on the outskirts of town. In the five minutes Bilbo had to wait for that message some doubts had started to creep back. He paced around his lounge and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen when the message came through.

Bilbo stared at the unwashed dishes left on the counter from the night before last, his fingers almost itched to turn on the taps, to fill the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water and scrub them clean, to put them all back in their proper places. Then his eyes fell on the flowerpot. It stood empty, waiting, expecting. Perhaps it was time to do something for himself, to allow this one small moment of selfishness and indulge in the unknown. With that last thought, Bilbo hoisted his pack so it sat more securely on his shoulder, turned his back on the pile of dirty dishes and walked out of his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the adventure starts in earnest in the next chapter.  
> Thank you for reading, feel free to leave a comment or come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://andalusa.tumblr.com)


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